


Drunk Confessions

by EllsKay



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllsKay/pseuds/EllsKay
Summary: Simon once again follows Baz to the Catacombs. When he finds him, he realizes that he's drunk and he thinks that this is his chance to prove that he's a vampire. However, he gets more than he bargained for when Baz starts revealing his most guarded secrets.





	1. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back but I never posted it because I didn't think it was my best work. But now I decided, what the hell? Let's share it and see what others think of it as well!

**SIMON**

I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see her face. I hear her words. _“This isn’t working, Simon. We don’t want the same things. I think we should just be friends.”_

I snort. _We don’t want the same things._

_Yes, because I want you and you want Baz,_ I wanted to tell her. Instead, I begged her to reconsider. She didn’t.

And it’s all Baz’s fault.

Where is he, anyway? It’s three in the morning and he still hasn’t come back to our room. I haven’t seen him since this afternoon.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. We usually try to spend as little time in our shared room as possible. I just figured he was in the library, working on the essay for Political Science that’s due tomorrow. Then night fell. I thought he was just hunting, like he always does at that hour.

But now it’s really late and it’s making me nervous. What is he up to this time?

I’m feeling restless. The fact that Baz isn’t here so I can keep an eye on him makes it even worse. I don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight.

I growl and throw the covers away. I put on my shoes and a jumper and leave the room. I gave up following him after our fifth year, as I was always coming back empty-handed anyway. But tonight the same anger and paranoia that controlled me two years ago is back. Tonight I want more than ever to prove to everyone just what kind of a monster he is.

And then Agatha will see. And she will come back to me.

I leave Mummers House and head for the White Chapel. There’s a full moon tonight, its silver glow reflecting on the snow that’s crunching under my feet. It’s a really cold night, but my magic is burning in my veins, keeping me fairly warm.

After I reach the chapel, I head for the Catacombs. I don’t know if that’s where he is, but it’s my best guess. I call for my sword and start wandering the stone tunnels, straining my ears for any sound that might point to him. All I hear is rats.

I’m wandering for so long that I can’t even remember my way back. The only thing I can do now is continue looking for him, hoping that I can follow him back out.

I wonder how long it would take me to starve down here. Will anyone realize that I’m here when they won’t be able to find me tomorrow? Penny might guess, even though she knows I haven’t been to the Catacombs since our fifth year. Baz will _definitely_ guess. But I doubt he’ll tell anyone. He’ll just leave me to rot here. One less problem for him.

I grit my teeth and keep going.

Suddenly, I hear something. It’s not the rats. It’s a person. Someone’s talking.

I head towards the voice. As I’m getting nearer, I recognize it. It’s Baz’s voice.

My heart rate accelerates. He’s meeting with someone here. Probably planning a coup.

_I got you now._

Finally, I find the source of the voice in a room whose walls are stacked with skulls from top to bottom. I recognize it. It’s Le Tombeau des Enfants – it’s where I found him the last time I followed him to the Catacombs. I peek around the corner with my sword ready.

I see him at the other side of the room, standing in front of a stone door I didn’t notice the last time. There is a bronze plate on it, but I’m too far away to read what’s written there. He is leaning his forehead against the door, while his hand traces the words engraved on the placard.

I look around the room while trying to remain hidden behind the corner. There’s no one else here. Who was he talking to, then?

“You know, I wasn’t really looking for it,” he says hoarsely.

I jump, thinking he realized I’m here. But he isn’t looking at me. His face is still against the door and his eyes are closed.

_Is he talking… to the door?_

No, not a door. A tomb. But who’s buried there? And why is he talking to a dead person?

Then I notice his other hand that’s hanging loosely at his side. It’s holding a flask.

_He’s drunk._ And definitely drunker than the last time I found him here, judging by the fact that he’s talking to the dead.

I grin triumphantly. Drunk people tend to spew out all their secrets, don’t they? Maybe this night won’t turn out to be a complete waste after all.

I try to hear what he’s saying. It’s not easy, because his voice is lower now and a little slurred.

“…the _Record_ ,” he is saying. “I only came across it as I was skimming it for our assignement. I should have closed the damn book the second I saw the article. I should have known better than to give in to my curiosity.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, at least now I know why no one talks about it at home. And why no one acknowledges the fact that I’m a vampire.”

My breath hitches. He admitted it. He actually admitted what he is.

I should be happy. But for some reason this doesn’t feel like a success. I’ve wanted to have something to hold him with for so long. Something to erase that smug smirk off his face. But he’s not smirking now. He looks… broken. And it’s hard to draw satisfaction from striking an enemy that’s already on the ground.

“I always thought the vampires killed you,” he says shakily. “I didn’t-” His voice breaks. “I didn’t know you were bit.”

I frown. Is he talking about his mother? I know she was killed in Watford during a vampire attack. It was the first (and last) breach in the history of the school. But I didn’t know she was bit during the attack.

And if it wasn’t the vampires who killed her, then who did?

He raises the flask and empties it in his mouth. Then he swings it and throws it against the opposite wall before he goes back to leaning against the door. A series of gut-wrenching sobs shake his thin form.

I’m watching him, dumbfounded.

He’s crying. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is crying.

And he is drunk. And pathetic.

I can’t believe it. I’ve spent so long trying to convince everyone that he’s a monster that I completely forgot that he’s also a boy. And at this moment, that’s all I can see. A boy who’s lost his mother.

His sobs subside a little, though they don’t stop completely. He raises his hand again to trace the placard. “You know, I always suspected that, if you were alive, you’d kill me. I am a monster after all. And now… Now I’m sure.” He closes his eyes. “My father didn’t have the guts to do it. Not even Fiona. They should have. They should have...”

I feel like a lump is lodged in my throat. I don’t like hearing him talk like that. It’s just _wrong_ , hearing him so defeated.

This isn’t Baz. Baz is powerful. Baz is arrogant. Baz is an insufferable arsehole, hell-bent on making my life miserable. He’s not _this_.

He talks again, but his voice is barely more than a whisper now, so I have to strain to catch what he’s saying. “Maybe I should do it myself. Like you did. You didn’t wait for anyone else to end your life. You did it yourself, because you knew it had to be done.”

My blood chills in my veins.

_Is he talking about… killing himself?_

The mere thought makes me sick to my stomach.

“All it would take would be a few words,” he says softly. “Four simple words.”

_Fuck._ He’s really thinking about it.

“I should just go ahead and do it. Put myself out of my misery. I’m dead either way.”

_No._ Don’t you dare.

He opens his eyes and pushes himself upright. I see him sway a little. He moves his hand towards his pocket, reaching for his wand.

I freeze. I have to stop him but I can’t make myself move.

His hand is in his pocket but, before he can draw out his wand, he staggers and falls on the floor.

My limbs can move again. I start to move towards him, to make sure he’s alright, but I’m halted by the sight of his shoulders shaking. He started crying again.

No, he isn’t crying. He’s laughing.

It’s harsh and bitter and devoid of mirth.

“I can’t even kill myself successfully,” he says, still wheezing. “What a joke.”

He manages to crawl to the door of his mother’s tomb and sit up with his back against it. He pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them with his arms. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t think I’d go through with it in the end. Because I’m a coward.” He shakes his head. “But don’t worry, mum. _He_ will kill me, like I always knew he would. And I won’t fight back. I promise.” He wipes his eyes and smiles sadly. “I suppose there are worse ways to die than in Simon Snow's hands. Like being hit by a car. Or falling down the stairs.”

My stomach twists.

_He thinks_ I’m _going to kill him?_

Of course he does. Haven’t we always known that it would end this way? A big fight between the two of us, at the end of which one of us would be dead? Why does it surprise me now? Why does the thought make me want to throw up every meal I ever had?

_Because I always thought of it as a fight against a monster – a vampire. Not a sad boy that doesn’t even want to fight back._

Baz laughs wistfully. “Do you know that he still thinks I pushed him down the stairs? He thinks I wanted to kill him. He _always_ thinks I want to kill him. Like that time with the chimera.” He sighs. “I did try to kill him once, though. Well, not kill him exactly. I tried to steal his voice.”

_I knew it!_

A new wave of rage courses through me at the confession. He tried to steal my voice and render me incapable of using magic. And instead he ended up hurting an innoscent. And he did it without remorse.

What was I thinking, sympathazing with Baz? He _is_ a monster. A heartless cold-blooded-

A sob interrupts my thoughts. I look up and see Baz’s face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he’s crying. “I didn’t mean to hurt her!” he screams in his hands. “She wasn’t supposed to be there! It was supposed to be just me and Snow. She just had to- to-”

He tries to control his sobs. After a few deep breaths he can talk again, though the tears that run down his face don’t stop.

“I just wanted him out of my life! I just- I couldn’t stand having him around all the time! In classes, in our room… He was there even when I was hunting! Always following me around when all I wanted was to get away from him, to- to sort out my feelings… So when Fiona gave me the recorder… I took it. And I tried to use it. And I’ll regret it until I die.”

He’s crying again. “I’m sorry, mum. I’m sorry for being such a disappointment. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He keeps repeating it like a spell, again and again. And I feel my own eyes sting and my throat blocked by a painful lump.

_Baz, you idiot…_

What he did to Philippa Stainton was terrible. But seeing him like this – it’s impossible to hate him, or even be angry with him. Because it seems like he’s already paid the price. And he’ll be paying it for the rest of his life.

Slowly, the sobbing stops again. I think he’s too exhausted to cry anymore. He hugs his knees again and rests his chin on them, looking so sad, so desolate – so _hauntingly beautiful_.

“And you know what the worst thing is?” he says in a throaty voice. “I actually felt relieved that it was her. That it wasn’t Snow who lost his voice. That it wasn’t he who had to leave Watford forever.” He laughs pathetically. “How fucked up is that?”

He shakes his head. “Sometimes it seems like my whole life is some sort of sick joke. I’m a vampire. And my mother _died_ killing vampires. My whole purpose in life should be to pass on the family name and rid the world of the Mage. Instead, I realize I am queer and I fall in love with the Mage’s Heir. It’s bloody hilarious.”

I’m just standing here, gobsmacked.

What.

_What?!_

Baz sighs. “I’m just so sick of all of this. The war. The Families. The Mage. And I’m so sick of Simon _bloody_ Snow. With his fucking golden curles, and his blue eyes, and his _fucking_ moles.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck, why does my nemesis have to be so goddamn _beautiful_? Why does everything have to be so bloody _fucked up_?”

I don’t have an answer to this. The only thought my brain is capable of forming at the moment is this:

_WHAT?!_

He sighs again and rests his head against the stone door, closing his eyes. “I’m just so, _so_ tired.”

I keep staring at him, waiting for him to say something else – probably explain what the fuck he just said a few seconds ago.

I mean.

What.

The.

_Fuck_.

A whole minute passes. Then two. When I see his head loll to the side and a thin line of drool slide down from his loose lips, I realize he’s asleep.

Slowly, I enter the room, sheathing my sword. I try not to make a sound and wake him but, of course, I fail miserably, as I step on the empty flask that’s still on the floor where it fell when he threw it away. I manage to keep my balance and I look at Baz, expecting him to wake up from all this racket. He just snors once and wraps his arms tighter around himself and then he is still again.

I exhale slowly. More carefully this time, I continue walking towards him. When I reach him, I slide down the stone door and sit beside him. For some reason, I reach out a hand towards his face. I wipe the drool and the tears with my sleeve, and then I tuck a loose strand of black hair behind his ear. He leans into my touch, shivering. He must be freezing.

On a whim, I wrap my arm around him and bring him closer to me, letting him draw in my warmth. He sighs and nuzzles my shoulder.

He looks so calm and peaceful right now. I like him better this way. Not sneering at me or trying to hurt me. Definitely not trying to commit suicide. While he’s sleeping in my arms, I know he’s safe. And I like to know that he is safe.

His words keep echoing in my ear. _“I realize I am queer and I fall in love with the Mage’s Heir.”_ And: _“Why does my nemesis have to be so goddamn beautiful?”_

Could it be true? Could Baz be… in love with me?

It’s crazy. He can’t be. He hates me. He always tried to ki-

Well, apparently he didn’t. He only tried to hurt me permanently once and, as it seems, he was relieved when it didn’t work.

But he was always after Agatha! If he was queer, then why did he always come betwee-

Oh.

_Oh._

He wasn’t after Agatha. He was after me.

I laugh silently. What a crazy night. I came here to expose him as a vampire because he stole my girlfriend. Instead, I realize that deep down he’s human after all and that he was actually trying to steal _me_ from my girlfriend.

“Snow?”

I jolt. _Fuck._

I didn’t think about what I would do if he woke up and found me holding him.

I turn my head hesitantly. Baz’s face is inches from mine. He isn’t freaking out. His eyes are droopy and he’s still leaning against me. He’s probably still not fully awake.

“Yes, Baz?” I say softly.

He smiles sleepily. Despite his red-rimmed eyes and his tear-stained face, he looks so beautiful right now. “You’re an idiot.”

I laugh a little. “I suppose I am. Now go back to sleep.”

He nods and pulls himself closer to me. I wrap my arms tighter around him and rest his head on my crook of my neck.

“Simon?” he whispers.

“Yes?”

“I love you…”

And then he’s asleep again.

I grin. This is all so fucking surreal. Which is probably why I decide to kiss his forehead and whisper to him: “I won’t kill you, Baz. I promise.”

I don’t know if he heard me or if it’s just because of the warmth and safety of sleeping into someone else’s arms, but I see him smile a little before I drift off as well.


	2. The morning after

**BAZ**

I wake up with a throbbing pain hammering on my temples. I’m lying on my side, on something hard and cold. Apparently, I slept on the floor, and now my whole body’s aching. Why am I sleeping on the floor?

For some reason, despite the pain and the cold floor underneath me, I feel oddly warm and content. Which is weird, because I don’t _feel_ content. Ever. The closest thing to content I’ve felt ever since my mother died was while I was playing the violin.

It takes me a while to realize the source of the warmth is _something_ pressed against my back and wrapped around me. It takes me even longer to realize that this _something_ is breathing – I can feel the hot exhales tickling the crook of my neck and the rhythmic rise and fall of a chest against my back. And this something – this _person_ – smells familiar. They smell like…

My eyes snap open.

How the fuck did I end up sleeping in Simon Snow’s arms?

My heart is pounding in my chest, so hard that I’m pretty sure he can feel it (his arms are wrapped around my torso).

How is this possible? How did this happen?

I take a few calming breaths. This is probably a dream. Yes, this has to be it. In what kind of reality could it be possible for me to wake up in Simon Snow’s arms?

This calms me down a bit and I close my eyes again, savoring the warm and content feeling of being held by the person I love. But my heart keeps pounding because, _Crowley_ , this feels real.

But it isn’t. It couldn’t be.

Right?

**SIMON**

I wake up feeling wonderful. My body’s aching all over because I slept somewhere _really_ uncomfortable, but there’s a cold body in my arms, and my nose is in someone’s soft hair that smell like cedar and bergamot, and it feels great.

I open my eyes slowly. All I can see is silky black hair and a very pale neck showing above the collar of a white shirt.

_Baz._

Last night comes back to me. I remember falling asleep while holding him. We must have rolled to the floor at some point during the night.

I hold him a little tighter. I like having him here – in my arms. At least this way I know he isn’t trying to hurt himself – or anyone else. At least now I know he’s safe and alive. Feeling his heartbeat against my arm is so comforting that I almost doze off again.

But then I realize that his heartbeat is way too fast to be asleep. Suddenly, my own heart starts beating faster in my chest.

_He’s awake. And he knows I’m here._

Shit. What if he freaks out? Waking up in his enemy's arms – the one that he is pretty sure will kill him in the future.

What if he’s already freaking out?

I take a deep breath.

“Baz?”

**BAZ**

Now I feel Snow’s heart hammering against my back, almost as fast as mine. I can feel him suck a deep breath.

“Baz?” he says quietly.

 _This is a dream,_ I remind myself. _Nothing more._

Still, it takes me a little while to find my voice.

“Yes?” My voice is a little scratchy.

“Are you- Are you alright?”

My heart’s beating even faster. All of this feels too real.

I press myself to sound calm. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Do you-” He sounds nervous. He never sounds nervous in my dreams. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

_Last night._

I slowly open my eyes again. It’s pretty dark, but I can make out the walls, stacked with skulls from top to bottom. We’re in the Catacombs.

Suddenly, bits and pieces from last night start coming back to me.

I remember coming to the Catacombs after I read that article about my mother’s death in the _Record_. I remember drinking from the flask I had stolen from my father and brought to Watford with me after the Christmas holidays. I remember crying and talking to my mother’s grave. I’m pretty sure that at some point I tried to cast **Tyger, Tyger, burning bright**.

I shudder.

But Snow wasn’t there. I was alone during this self-loathing suicidal outburst. Except…

I remember something else – one last image from last night before I dirfted off. I remember Snow, holding me in his arms and comforting me. I had been pretty sure it was a dream. And I told him-

My eyes widen in shock. I jump on my feet, pushing Snow off me. I stagger as a sharp pang of pain shoots through my skull, but I manage to stay on my feet and back away to the other end of the room. I stand with my back against the wall, my chest heaving, probably looking like a terrified caged animal. (I kind of am.)

Snow is also scrambling to his feet. “Baz, calm down,” he says. His voice is gentle.

“What are you doing here, Snow?” I yell angrily.

“I was just-”

“You were following me again, weren’t you?”

“No! I mean, yes, but-”

“Well, you found me! And you heard what you wanted to hear! So why did you stick around? Were you afraid that I would say something else that would be incriminating and you’d miss it?”

“No! Baz, I was just- I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because- Well- You were kind of a mess yesterday. And I just wanted to make sure you didn’t do something stupid while you were still drunk-”

“You mean like trying to kill you? Or the Mage?”

“What? No, that’s not-”

“Or maybe you thought I’d go around the grounds, feeding on everyone that crossed my path, because, _apparently_ , I’m an evil blood-thirsty vampire!”

“No, _Baz_ -”

“And, because you’re the _Chosen One_ , you couldn’t let that happen, could you? No, the hero had to pin me down and hold me to make sure I didn’t go on a rampage-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he yells and walks towards me. His eyes are blazing – intense and determined.

I press myself harder against the rough wall, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

_Well, this is it. Today I meet my end._

Despite what I said last night in my drunk little outburst, I’m not entirely ready to die. But Snow’s now crossing the few feet that separate us with long strides and there’s no way I can fight back with this hangover.

But he isn’t drawing his sword. Instead, he takes my face in his hands and he kisses me.

**SIMON**

I’m pretty sure kissing him wasn’t what I was planning to do when I started walking towards him. I think I was going to put a comforting hand on his shoulder or slap him to make him see sense or something like that.

But then I saw him recoil. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch _recoiled_. Baz may not run towards danger like I do, but he doesn’t back away either. He stands and fights.

But he recoiled when he saw me approaching. And I just wanted to show him that I didn’t want to hurt him – that I didn’t think he was an evil blood-thirsty vampire.

So I kissed him.

His whole body goes rigid for a few moments, and I’m afraid I made the wrong decision. But then he sort of _melts_ into the kiss. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I slide my hands through his soft black hair and I feel like I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I tug a little on his hair and he lets out a little whimper. The sound makes me grin against his mouth and I feel _so_ good. This kiss is _so_ good.

Kissing Agatha didn’t feel this way. The kisses were always soft and gentle and sweet. This… This is different. It’s deep and full of longing. Baz kisses me like he means it. And it’s intoxicating.

Suddenly, he pulls away. I automatically move forward to kiss him again, but he puts a hand on my chest, keeping me away.

“Snow, what-” His breathing is ragged. He gulps. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I noticed. I mean, why are you kissing me.”

“Because I want to?”

“Are you asking me?”

I roll my eyes. “I wanted to kiss you. Period. Happy?”

He frowns. “But you hate me.”

“No, I don’t. _Well_ , maybe I _did_. But after yesterday night-”

“What?” he inquires, and there’s a hard look in his eyes now. “Now you pity me? You pity the poor pathetic vampire who’s in love with his nemesis?”

“No!” I say firmly. “Now I _understand_ you.” I shake my head. “I mean, until yesterday, I thought you were an evil monster. But last night, I saw the human part of you. And, well… I kind of like it.”

He arches his eyebrow. “You like a self-loathing emotional wreck that wants to kill himself to please his dead mother?”

I shrug. “I guess I’m disturbed.”

He smirks at that. “Good.”

I snort. “It’s good that I’m disturbed?”

“Yes. We match.”

**BAZ**

We kiss again and I feel so happy I could cry. Or maybe that’s because of the terrible headache that’s still pounding on my forehead and temples.

Snow probably remembers as well that I’m hangover, because he breaks the kiss and looks at his watch.

“We should get going. We might be able to convince Penny to make us a hangover potion before class.”

He pulls my arm and we start to walk towards the door hand in hand when suddenly it hits me.

_Class._

Shit.

He turns and looks at me. “What?”

“The essay,” I say with dread. “I didn’t get to do the essay.”

He bursts out laughing.

“This isn’t funny! You know, _some_ of us actually take their studies seriously.”

“No, no, you’re right,” he says, but has a hard time suppressing his laughter. “You can hand over mine if you want to.”

I bristle. “That’s even worse than not handing over an essay at all!”

He punches my arm. “I’m trying to help, you ungrateful git.”

“Well, lots of help you are, illiterate oaf,” I say, punching him back.

“Pretentious arse.”

“Immature twat.”

“Blood-sucking freak.”

Instead of an answer, I smirk at him with my fangs popped out.

His breath hitches. “That’s so _hot_.”

I roll my eyes as my fangs get sucked back in my gums. “You’re an idiot, Snow.”

He grins. “You called me Simon yesterday.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did!”

“Well, drunk people tend to do stupid things.”

“Yes, stupid things like trying to light themselves on fire, or calling their arch-enemies by their first names or-”, he smirks, “declaring their _undying love_ for them.”

I step closer to him. “Simon,” I say in a low seductive whisper, my mouth close to his ear.

I can see him shiver. He’s not smirking now. “Y-Yes?” he breathes.

“Shut up.” And I pass by him to leave the room. When I reach the doorway, I turn back to find him still in the same spot I left him. “Are you coming?”

“Huh?” He turns and blinks a few times to get rid of that glassy look in his eyes.

I smirk and go back to take him by the hand. “Let’s go, Snow. Leave the dead to their rest.”

And we leave the Catacombs hand in hand, never looking back.


End file.
